


the fire in your heart (will burn you to the ground)

by SparkleMoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cor Has A Kid AU, Family Bonding, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Sentinel/Guide Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Aeon knows who his father is.He just has no interest in meeting him. Sadly, when he overhears some Imperial agents discussing their successful kidnapping of Noctis, Aeon realizes that he might be meeting his father sooner rather than later.After all, he can't just stand by and let someone get kidnapped.





	1. bloody the devil (with steel from on high)

Aeon leaves the place he’s called home for the past eight years when he’s thirteen. He leaves because he’s restless, he leaves because the couple who had looked after him is looking to have a child of their own. He leaves because he doesn’t want to be a burden and he leaves because his mother isn’t coming back.

He had held on to hope for as long as he could. Waking each morning with the hope that that day would be the day his mother arrived with a grin on her face and laughter in her step. Aeon has known for years that his mother was involved in the Resistance movement against the Empire. He has known that what his mother does is dangerous.

It just never occurred to him that one day she wouldn’t come back. So he leaves the place that acted as a home for the past eight years because his mother isn’t coming back and she has always been the one thing tying him to that place.

Cynthia and Marcus are nice, are almost a second family. But they aren’t his mother. They aren’t his. Aeon has no attachment to them beyond feelings of familiarity and slight affection. That affection isn’t enough to keep him with them.

Aeon is thirteen when he packs his things into a backpack, slides the blade his mother had given him the last time he had seen her onto his hip and leaves the farm he had spent most of his life on with solemn goodbyes.

* * *

The first few months away from the farm are hard. He doesn’t quite know what to do, how to fend for himself. It’s a learning experience, Aeon will figure out later, a lesson that taught him nothing would be handed to him on a silver platter.

More than once Aeon considers heading to Insomnia, to his father. He considers what life might be like as the son of a Crownsguard member and comes to the conclusion that it’s not for him. Aeon doesn’t want to be tied down, not by anything or anyone.

So he learns. He learns how to skin animals, how to hunt and kill and how to be as silent as a coeurl on the prowl.

He learns how to fend for himself, and just as he thinks he’s gotten the hang of living by himself. A man in a ridiculous hat shows up.

“You may call me Ardyn,” the man says, wine colored hair spilling across his face as he bows mockingly to Aeon, “May I ask your name?”

Aeon narrows his eyes. “Fuck off,” is all he says.

Ardyn makes a disapproving noise. “That’s no way to talk to your elders.”

Aeon rolls his eyes and tries to move past Ardyn.

Ardyn blocks him smoothly.

Aeon glares, distaste obvious in his gaze, he tries to move around Ardyn again.

He’s blocked a second time.

At this point, Aeon considers stabbing Ardyn. His hand strays tellingly to the blade at his side. As fast as he can, Aeon unsheathes his blade and moves to attack Ardyn.

Ardyn steps out of the way and trips Aeon. It’s only his mothers’ training that prevents Aeon from impaling himself on his own sword.

Aeon takes a breath, calms himself, and before he can lunge at the man behind him, sheathes his blade and walks away.

Ardyn falls into step beside him.

“I never did get your name,” he says, far too cheerful for someone that was almost stabbed.

“You still won’t,” Aeon says and walks faster. To his frustration, Ardyn keeps pace with him easily.

“Perhaps a game then? A game of questions. For each question you ask I will answer truthfully, as such you must answer each question I ask truthfully as well.”

“No,” Aeon says.

“May I guess your name then?”

“No.”

“Hmmm, pity, and here I would have guessed that your name was Aeon Gainsborough. Son of the Immortal.”

Aeon doesn’t slow his pace, he stops completely and turns. Tilting his head upward so he can look Ardyn in the eyes.

“If you are here to use me against my father,” Aeon says, “Then I must inform you that he doesn’t know that I exist.”

Ardyn raises an eyebrow. “And you assume your father is why I am here. Perhaps I merely came to see how his son measured up to his legend.”

“Then I’m sure you’re disappointed,” Aeon says, voice dry.

Ardyn chuckles, deep and menacing and Aeon resists the urge to go for his blade again. “Oh, dear, I afraid that you are terribly wrong. I see a startling amount of potential in you.”

Aeon rolls his eyes, and starts walking again.

Potential? Yeah, right.

* * *

Aeon thinks that maybe he should have taken Ardyn more seriously when Ardyn said he saw potential in him. Perhaps then Ardyn wouldn’t keep on appearing and bothering him.

_At least,_ Aeon thinks as he glares at Ardyn from across the camp Aeon has built _, He brings food_.

* * *

Aeon takes back every not murderous thought he’s ever had about Ardyn as he chases Ardyn through Cleigne. The man had stolen the blade his mother had given him, had told Aeon that in order to retrieve it Aeon must first catch Ardyn.

Aeon has been hunting Ardyn for three days when he follows Ardyn into an old ruin. He stumbles in the dark, flicking his flashlight on and scanning the area for any sign of Ardyn or the sword his mother had given him.

An overwhelming sense of relief courses through Aeon as he moves to go and pick up the sword. Something behind him moves, and Aeon has to duck and roll out of the way to avoid getting sliced in half. He isn’t quite fast enough and he feels the trickle of blood roll down his face and a stinging on his cheekbone.

Aeon stamps down the shock that threatens to overwhelm him and spins around to get a glimpse of his attacker. He sees a mask of silver and glowing red eyes before he’s moving again as his attacker once again goes for his head.

“What?” Aeon says, hissing as he stumbles backward and out of the reach of the intricate blade the silver-masked man wields, “Are you doing?”

The man makes no move to reply, instead of lunging at Aeon again who is forced once again to move faster than he’s ever moved in his life.

“Fuck,” Aeon yells as he trips over a rock and lands on his back, “Ardyn I’m going to come back as a ghost and fucking kill you.”

The name gives the man pause, it’s a long enough pause for Aeon to lunge for his mothers' blade. He doesn’t make it, the man’s sword slamming blocking his path and Aeon barely pauses in time to stop himself from getting killed.

“You know Ardyn,” the man says, voice low but echoing, “He brought you here?”

Aeon eyes the man warily, but the masked man has stopped attacking him so Aeon will stall for as long as he can. “He led me here,” Aeon agrees, “Stole my mothers’ sword to get me to follow him. Said something about training me to be my fathers’ equal.”

The masked man makes no noise, he merely sheathes his blade and turns to look at Aeon, his glowing red eyes seeming to bore holes into Aeon’s skull.

“Leonis,” the man says, “You are the son of the Immortal, Ardyn would not have led you here otherwise.”

Something about the way the man says Leonis puts Aeon on edge.

“So what?” Aeon asks, crossing his arms.

“Follow me,” the other man says, “Least you wish to become a feast for the dead.”

Aeon narrows his eyes at the man who turns and begins walking deeper into the ruins. Behind him, something groans.

Aeon picks up his mothers' sword and follows him.

* * *

The masked man is named Gilgamesh. He was apparently the Shield to the Founder King.

Aeon could care less.

“I’d like to leave,” he tells Gilgamesh that evening, his eyes sharp and narrowed at the masked man's face, “I do not belong here.”

“None who breathe do,” Gilgamesh agrees, “But you will stay, and you will learn.”

“And what do you have to teach me?”

“War,” Gilgamesh says, “Survival.”

Aeon’s lips press together.

He stays.

* * *

Gilgamesh is a hard trainer. He pushes Aeon until Aeon collapses. He has no qualms bruising or leaving open wounds and Aeon learns how to dodge, how to move quickly and silently and to always keep an eye open for threats.

When they aren’t training with blades, Gilgamesh teaches him tactics. He teaches Aeon the basics of strategy, how to turn the tide of a battle and how to win with minimal losses.

Beyond that, he teaches Aeon first aid, how to patch wounds and sew stitches. He shows Aeon how to take care of an infection and what plants can be used for elixirs and potions.

Gilgamesh teaches Aeon things, and Aeon finds himself almost enjoying it. He likes learning, he likes knowing how to do things, and while Gilgamesh is a hard teacher, he doesn’t harm Aeon outside of their sparring matches.

Aeon will take what he can get.

Still, each week, he asks the same question.

“Can I leave yet?”

The answer is always the same. “No,” Gilgamesh says, “You may leave when you are able to leave an open wound on me.”

Each week, Aeon works harder.

He wants to see the sun again.

* * *

It takes a year and a half of constant training. A year and a half of stitching himself up and throwing himself back at Gilgamesh. It takes a year and a half of taking everything Gilgamesh can throw at him and using that to better himself for Aeon to decide he’s had enough.

In his next fight against Gilgamesh, he fights as though he’s fighting for his life, as though he’s fighting for his freedom from the Tempering Grounds that have become his home for the past year and a half.

Aeon fights, and when Gilgamesh slices a gash on Aeon’s sword arm Aeon fights harder. He ignores the sharp tingling pain in his right arm from the wound and throws himself into the fight harder.

He still loses, Gilgamesh knocks him to the ground and Aeon snarls at the man towering above him.

“Improvement doesn’t come without cost,” Gilgamesh says, his sword at Aeon’s neck, “Ask yourself, what do you fear? What is holding you back?”

“I’ve nothing left to lose,” Aeon snarls, the fangs he’s inherited from his father showing.

“You have your life,” Gilgamesh says.

Aeon freezes.

Gilgamesh removes his blade from Aeon’s neck and leaves.

* * *

 

Aeon spends the next week training by himself when he’s not training with Gilgamesh. He trains until his form is technically perfect, he studies Gilgamesh’s movements as his mentor spars with him. He looks for openings and hardly finds any. The ones that Aeon does find are guarded quickly.

Aeon learns how to guard his own openings. He learns how to fast and deadly and he thinks about what Gilgamesh said.

He does still have his life. Aeon’s life is the only thing he has left other than his mothers’ blade. Aeon could die in the Tempering Grounds and no one would know. He’d merely be another victim to an ancient being capable of decimating an army.

Aeon finds that he doesn’t care. His life is nothing, he has no one to protect, nothing to risk his own life for. His life is nothing and if he dies-

If he dies it will be cutting Gilgamesh open.

* * *

They fight. They fight until Aeon is sweating and bloody and Aeon snarls and dodges and blocks until his arms ache.

Aeon can feel blood trickle out of the gash Gilgamesh left in his side and he feels an ancient fury unravel within him.

**_How dare Gilgamesh keep him here?_ **

**_How dare Ardyn lead him here and leave him in the hands of a madman?_ **

**_How dare they act as though he is a weapon to be used? Something entertaining to be watched?_ **

**_How dare they?_ **

Aeon snarls, and without any regard to his own safety, throws himself at Gilgamesh. Aeon’s blade slices through the side of Gilgamesh’s armor.

For the first time in a year and a half, Aeon’s blade is coated in blood.

Aeon doesn’t let up, he continues attacking Gilgamesh until Gilgamesh knocks the sword of Aeon’s hands and one of Gilgamesh’s blade winds up at Aeon’s neck again.

Aeon barely resists the urge to throw himself at Gilgamesh without a weapon.

Gilgamesh is silent, his blade unwavering at Aeon’s neck.

“You may leave when you wish,” Gilgamesh says, some unnamed emotion in his voice, “Nothing will hinder you on your way out.”

Aeon nods the best he can with a blade at his throat. The blade falls away, and Gilgamesh vanishes.

* * *

The first time in a year and a half Aeon feels the sun on his face, sees the blue of the sky and the white of clouds he throws his head back and laughs.

So engrossed in his joy, he doesn’t notice the figure behind him or the way the sunlight seems to surround him in a soft glow before it disappears.

A deep voice cuts his laughter short. “I was wondering when you would come out,” Ardyn says, seeming to materialize out of the shadows of the Crag, “I almost thought my investment in you would be for naught.”

“I am not,” Aeon says, voice quiet and deadly as his hand reaches for his sword, “Something to be invested in.”

Ardyn laughs, and much like their first meeting, moves out of the way as Aeon’s blade cuts through the air where he once was.

“You’re a feral little thing aren’t you,” Ardyn notes, amusement in his voice, “I’ll be looking forward to seeing how you fair against the trials ahead.”

Before Aeon can speak, can demand exactly what trials are ahead. Ardyn continues, “In the meantime, I believe it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper meal, yes?”

It’s only then Aeon notices that there is a fire a few feet away, the smell of cooking meat causes him to salivate. He still glares at Ardyn, suspicion written in his features.

He forgets about Ardyn’s cryptic words. The only thing on his mind being food, actual food that wasn’t scavenged from Gilgamesh’s shitty garden.

Aeon is so tired of vegetables.

“What is it?” he asks Ardyn, still not believing that the man would just hand over food like that.

“Why it’s a cut of dualhorn steak,” Ardyn replies cheerfully, “I thought you deserved an award for surviving. Now, why don’t you go and eat? I have an old friend to talk to.”

It’s only later, when Aeon has his mouth full of food, that he realizes he doesn’t know what the date is. He only knew how much time had passed because of the marks he carved onto a wall in the Tempering Grounds. But now, now he has no clue what the date is.

Aeon shrugs, he’ll deal with that later.

* * *

When Aeon comes across an outpost and asks for the date he discovers he’s fifteen. His birthday has been on the thirteenth of February.

It’s now the sixteenth of July.

Aeon shrugs at the loss of his fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays and throws himself into hunting. People question the scarred fifteen-year-old boy that comes in asking for hunts but all Aeon has to do is raise an eyebrow and point at his sword and people give in to his demand for a mark.

They assume he’s an orphan, and Aeon doesn’t correct them. He might as well be an orphan, after all, it’s not as though his father knows of his existence.

It’s not like he has family that would miss him.

So, Aeon takes on hunts. He completes them all successfully, and soon enough his name starts to become known and people start coming to him for help with their problems.

Aeon shrugs and helps them.

It’s not as if he has anything else to do.

Soon enough he becomes comfortable in a way he hasn’t been since he had a routine to follow on the farm. He becomes so comfortable in fact, he forgets everything his mother, Cynthia and Marcus had taught him about second genders and the hierarchy.

He forgets that unless they are under undue amounts of stress, most people present on their fifteenth birthday.

He forgets that he had turned fifteen more than five months ago. In hindsight, it’s not much of a surprise that he presents when he feels comfortable. When he has a routine keeping him going.

Still, Aeon wishes that he hadn’t had the luck to present while in a cave.

On a hunt.

Aeon groans throws his head against a while and curses his biology for all it’s worth. He feels hot, feverish as if his clothing is suffocating him. Not only that, but he can feel everything. He can feel the life force of every creature in the cave and outside of it, he can feel the humans in the outpost that are at least three miles away from the cave he is currently in.

Aeon can feel everything, and it’s only the fact that he’s on a hunt that prevents him from falling to the ground, curling up into a ball, and waiting to die.

He takes a breath, tries to steady his nerves, and ignores the way his hand shakes as he grips his blade tighter.

He’s going to finish this hunt, it doesn’t matter if he’s not in a state to do anything currently, he is going to finish this hunt, make his way back to the last Outpost, book a room, and sleep for an entire day.

He deserves it damn it.

* * *

Aeon knows he looks like a mess when he gets back to the Outpost and tells them that their problem is taken care of. The tipster, a beta which is something Aeon would have never been able to tell before, looks at him with something pity.

Aeon knows it’s obvious that he’s just presented. Aeon knows this. Which is why he snarls and takes the gil from the tipster and promptly uses that to book a room in the seedy motel attached to the restaurant.

He locks the door to his room and passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

* * *

When Aeon wakes up, he takes the longest shower he’s ever had. Throws on a change of clothing and shoves his old clothing into his backpack and shrugs the bag onto his shoulder.

He leaves the room, fully intent on leaving this Outpost as soon as possible, but when he steps into the lobby to check out, there are people waiting for him.

Aeon glares at the Alpha Guide that approaches him. The dog tags around the other Guides neck mark him as a Hunter.

Aeon really doesn’t want to interact with any other Hunters.

“Kid,” the Hunter says, “You just presented right?”

Aeon nods, the Hunter continues. “Yeah, I can tell, you’re emotions are spreading out all over the place, it’s making some people antsy.”

Aeon raises an eyebrow, his expression nonchalant as he listens to the other Hunter. When no response is forthcoming, the Hunter sighs.

“Kid,” the Hunter says, “I’m a Guide too, I can at least teach you how to shield yourself and others so you don’t give away your emotions and attracted every Alpha and Sentinel in a three-mile radius.”

Aeon considers this, he knows he’s projecting emotions, knows this because he can feel other people's emotions with a startling clarity. Aeon knows that this could be used against him in combat.

It doesn’t take him long to agree to the Hunter’s proposal.

“What do you want in return?” Aeon asks.

The Hunter looks genuinely shocked at the idea he would want anything for helping Aeon out. “Nothing,” the Hunter is quick to reassure him, “Nothing at all, you’re a kid. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Aeon narrows his eyes, he doesn’t trust the Hunter to mean what he says, but if worst comes to worst, Aeon doesn’t doubt he can take care of himself.

“Fine,” Aeon agrees, “When do we start?”

The Hunter smiles. “Right now.”

* * *

Over the next three days, Dave, the Hunter that had accosted Aeon, teaches Aeon how to shield himself. How to hold his emotions close to him so they are flying through the air and affecting the emotions of others. Dave teaches Aeon how to build a shield around himself and how to expand that shield to include others.

“You might need to shield a Sentinel from their own senses,” Dave tells Aeon, “Shielding is the best way to do that.” Aeon rolls his eyes but learns how to shield others anyway.

It wouldn’t hurt to have a few people in his debt after all.

When the three days are over, and Dave tells Aeon that Aeon has done exceedingly well, that Dave can barely feel Aeon’s emotions and that Aeon will only become more adept at shielding in time. Aeon thanks the man and tries to pay him.

Dave refuses to be paid for his service.

Aeon frowns and when Dave goes to leave, slips three hundred gil into his pocket.

* * *

Everything is going well. The year has almost past and Aeon finds himself enjoying life.

He doesn’t worry about much. What will come will come.

Then Aeon overhears some Niflheim soldiers saying they’ve kidnapped the Prince of Lucis.

Well, Aeon thinks, That won’t do at all.

* * *

There are several things Aeon should not be doing. He should not be fighting off a group of Imperial agents for a boy he doesn’t know. He shouldn’t be winning a fight against a group that outnumbers him by far. He shouldn’t be laughing as he ducks under gunfire and slides his blade through the neck of the last Imperial who thought it’d be a wise idea to capture the Prince of Lucis.

But he is. The only reason Aeon can think of that makes sense for the fact that he’s winning is the fact that he’s the one that had been trained by Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh is more of a threat than these long-range fighters by far.

When he is done, Aeon is covered in gore and mud. The rain has made the battle far messier than it would have been otherwise.

Aeon grimaces at the mud sticking to his hair. He doesn’t mind the blood, long exposure to blood, both his own and others has made him indifferent to the red that splattered across his clothing and onto the ground.

Sighing, Aeon, slides his blade back into the sheath on his hip and stalks toward the van that holds the prince hostage. Yanking open the door, the fifteen-year-old scans the interior of the van and frowns when he sees the Crown Prince of Insomnia bound and gagged. Noctis looks terrified and defiant and Aeon can’t help but roll his eyes at the sight.

“I’m not here to hurt you, kid,” Aeon says, despite the fact that he’s not much older than Noctis is, “If anything, I’m here to help you get back to your city.”

Aeon slides a knife out of his boot and approaches the prince slowly, as to not scare him. Noctis goes still at the sight of the knife, and a wariness enters his eyes.

“I’m going to unbind you,” Aeon says, placing the knife under the zip ties used to bind Noctis’ hands together and cutting through them in one smooth movement. The moment his hands are free Noctis pulls the cloth that was gagging him out of his mouth and throws it on the floor.

“Who are you?” Noctis asks, “Are you-”

“I’m not with the Glaive,” Aeon cuts off the question, “I’m not with the Crownsguard either. I just happened to overhear them talking about how they had ‘royal cargo’ and that they needed to ‘get away quickly’. Putting two and two together wasn’t hard.”

Noctis still looks suspicious, but that’s not Aeon’s problem. “You’re about a three-day walk from Insomnia,” Aeon tells him, already turning around and “Good luck.”

“You’re leaving me?” Noctis sounds appalled, as though it hadn’t occurred to him that he would just be left alone to find his own way back to Insomnia.

Aeon casts a glance over his shoulder. “You have magic,” he points out, “You should be fine.”

“I’m twelve.”

“I was fighting Goblins off a farm when I was twelve,” Aeon says, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t see the issue here if Aeon was able to fend for himself and the couple that had raised him while his mother was off fighting in a rebellion he doesn’t see why Noctis shouldn’t be able to handle himself for a few days.

Noctis looks as though someone just told him that his favourite puppy died. His dark blue eyes are wide with disbelief and his mouth is open as though he can’t find the words for what he wants to say.

Aeon refuses to fall for the puppy eyes.

He refuses.

He feels something in his heart ache and he falls for the puppy eyes anyway.

It really doesn’t help that Aeon can feel Noctis’ loneliness in the air around them.

“Fuck,” Aeon hisses and turns around to face the kid, “Alright. I’ll accompany you to the Wall, or until one your fathers' men recognize us. And no further.”

Noctis’ face turns into one of relief and Aeon refuses to feel any guilt for almost leaving the boy to fend for himself. Noctis is a prince. Prince’s have combat training, don’t they?

He should have been fine.

For some reason, Aeon now doubts that.

Stepping out of the van with Noctis on his heels Aeon steps around the bodies on the ground around them.

He hears Noctis hesitate as the prince takes in the carnage around them.

“I won’t hurt you,” Aeon says, stopping a few feet away from Noctis and half-turning to face him as the rain causes Aeon’s brown hair to stick to his face, “I said I’d get you to the Wall didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, his voice shakier than it was before, “You did.”

“I keep my word, Noctis,” Aeon says, trying to make his voice as calm and soothing as possible, “I will see you to safety. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

Noctis takes a breath to steel himself.

He steps around the bodies and stops next to Aeon.

“Alright,” Noctis says, “Let’s go.”

* * *

The first night they spend together, Noctis doesn’t sleep. He tosses and turns in the sleeping bag that Aeon has lent him. Aeon himself is propped up against a rock, sleeping with his blade in his arms.

Noctis wonders how Aeon can sleep like that.

“Stop moving,” Aeon grumbles, his eyes still closed, “I’m not carrying you if you’re too tired to walk tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Noctis asks after a moment of silence, “Being alone out here all the time?”

Aeon doesn’t answer, a long moment of silence stretching between them before he finally speaks.

“You get used to it,” Aeon says finally.

“You shouldn’t have too,” Noctis says.

Aeon has no answer for that.

* * *

Later, when it becomes obvious that Noctis is still awake, Aeon opens his eyes and begin singing. His mother used to sing to him when she was around, and Aeon couldn’t sleep. He sees no reason why a song shouldn’t put Noctis to sleep as well.

“Thou seek the light, with an outstretched hand,” Aeon begins, and watches as Noctis rolls over to watch him, “A divine blade lies before you; so command the wake of dreams…”

Noctis’ curious eyes seem to grow heavy as Aeon sings, eventually, Noctis’ eyes shut just as Aeon finishes singing.

Aeon rolls his eyes and settles down against the rock he’s spent the night up against.

* * *

T he next day, Aeon can tell by the way Noctis rubs his eyes and yawns that Noctis is tired. Still, Noctis doesn’t complain when Aeon wakes him up at dawn and proceeds to shove the sleeping bag Noctis was sleeping into the backpack he carries with him.

“Alright,” Aeon says, “Let’s go.”

So far they’ve been avoiding main roads in an attempt to avoid any Imperial agents that might be looking for Noctis. But now, as they are nearing where Aeon knows the Hammerhead is, he supposes that it’s alright for them to wander more freely.

“Where are we going?” Noctis asks, curious but willing to follow Aeon as Aeon is the only person around for miles that Noctis even mildly trusts.

“The nearest outpost,” Aeon says as they begin walking, “I haven’t been there. But it’s the closest one to Insomnia, besides if I remember correctly, nothing but good things have been said about the mechanic that lives there.”

Noctis is quiet. “Do you think we’ll run into someone from Insomnia there?”

“I’m hoping we run into a Glaive or a Crownsguard member,” Aeon admits, “If not, then I guess you’re stuck with me until we get to the Wall.”

* * *

They walk for hours, taking breaks only when Noctis needs it. Aeon is surprised at how little the prince complains, he would have thought that being royalty Noctis would complain more.

He doesn’t, and Aeon doesn’t know how he feels about that. Noctis complains so little, in fact, Aeon has resorted to using his empathy to figure out when Noctis needs a break.

Still, they make it to the Hammerhead rather quickly. Aeon blinks at the numerous black vans and cars that surround the Outpost.

It’s not surprising that there would be Crownsguard members and Glaives at the Outpost, what is surprising is the sheer number of them. Aeon can feel more than twenty different people within three miles of the Hammerhead. He has no doubt that there are further out. Looking for their lost prince.

Aeon contemplates leaving the Prince where he is. But Noctis grabs onto his hand with a fierce grip for one so small and all but drags Aeon over to the man in black that seems to be in charge of the operations.

The man himself is an Omega Guide, much like Aeon himself, and Aeon narrows his eyes as he stares at too familiar cheekbones.

He's seen the same facial feature in the mirror. Aeon has seen the man's cheekbones and jawline each time he looks in the mirror, the man's steel blue eyes are a perfect match to Aeon's own blue right eye; his left being a green. Aeon has always thought that the heterochromia he was born with was kinda cool.

He regrets thinking that now as it only gives him more reason to believe the man in front of him is Cor. 

That the man in front of him is his father.

Aeon doesn't freeze, but he carefully tries to pull his hand out of Noctis' grip. No luck. Noctis stares up at Aeon, his expression stern, a shadow of the king he will one day be, and Aeon sighs as Noctis tightens his grip on Aeon's hand further.

It wouldn't surprise him if Noctis' grip left a bruise.

As they approach the man in black, movement around them stops. No one says anything, but Aeon can feel the relief in the air at the fact their prince is unharmed. Aeon can feel the suspicion directed at him. At the fact that Noctis is all but dragging Aeon up to the Marshal of the Crownsguard.

"Cor," Noctis calls out, and Aeon can feel the relief from Noctis mix and mingle into the air around them. Noctis' relief does little to ease the urge Aeon has to flee, to vanish, to disappear and avoid the confrontation that will no doubt come when Cor gets a moment alone with him.

Cor turns his head, his eyes zeroing in on Noctis as he abandons the conversation he was having with an old man. Aeon can't read Cor's emotions, which just goes to show how much training the man has, but he can read Cor's face well enough to tell that he is relieved that Noctis is safe and appears to be unharmed. 

Aeon can see the moment Cor sees that Noctis is dragging someone behind him. The moment Cor's eyes land on Aeon's face Aeon can all but feel the shock that wars with disbelief in Cor's mind. Aeon knows he looks like Cor, knows that his features aren't as razor sharp as Cor's but that the resemblance is there. He knows this, which is why he schools his face into an impassive mask as Cor looks at him.

Aeon knows he looks like a wreck, that he's still covered in dried blood and mud from the day before because there was nowhere for him to shower or bathe while out in the wilderness. Aeon knows that he looks like something the cat dragged in and he doesn't care.

It's unlikely his father will accept him anyway. Why bother caring about first impressions?

Besides Cor, the man Aeon's father had been talking to takes a look at Aeon, does a double take, and lets out a wheezing laugh.

"Shit, Cor," the man says, "What did you get up to?"

 


	2. firebird's child

There are several things that Cor doesn’t like about the picture in front of him. He doesn’t like that Noctis is staring at him with a determined expression on his face that means that Noctis has already decided that something is going to happen. He doesn’t like the grip Noctis has on the strange teenager that is not so subtly trying to escape the prince’s grasp. The thing that has tied his stomach in knots however, the thing that has caused a lump in his throat and the thing that has Cid wheezing out a laugh beside him are all the same thing.

Because the teenager that Noctis is holding onto has Cor’s cheekbones. The teen has Cor’s brown hair and sharp nose and Cor has a feeling that if the boy didn’t have heterochromatic eyes that both of his eyes would be the cold blue of his left one. Would be the same shade of Cor’s own eyes.

Cor can feel the unease rolling off the teenager and tries to make himself appear less threatening by ignoring Cid’s remark and focusing his gaze back on Noctis.

“Are you alright?” Cor asks, his eyes once again scanning Noctis for any injuries. The prince’s wrists seem a bit bruised but otherwise, he looks fine. A bit dirty, but that’s nothing a shower won’t fix.

Noctis rolls his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says, and steps forward, tugging the rather irate teenager with him. The teenager looks like he’s about to say something, but Noctis speaks again before he can, “This guy saved me.” There’s a look in Noctis’ eyes that Cor has seen on Regis before. It’s a telltale sign that Noctis has already claimed the teenager as his. It’s a look that screams ‘MINE’.

Cor isn’t sure how to feel about that, hell, he isn’t sure how to feel about the fact the teenager looks like he could be Cor’s son, so he decides to shelf those feelings for another time.

That doesn’t mean he’s letting the teenager out of his sight until something gets cleared up.

Cor turns his gaze back to the teen to find the teen with a barely there scowl on his face. As though he’d rather be anywhere than here.

“Your name?” Cor asks, and watches how the teenager’s gaze snaps to him. Cold and assessing and reminding Cor far too much of how he was in his youth.

Cor doesn’t know what the teenager is looking for, doesn’t know if he finds it, but that assessing gaze doesn’t diminish when Cor eventually gets the teenagers name.

“Aeon,” the teen - Aeon - says, “That’s my name.”

“Last name?”

“Why do you want to know?” Aeon’s eyes have narrowed like he suspects Cor is looking for a confirmation to something.

Aeon’s suspicion is further proof to a conclusion that Cor doesn’t know what to do with.

Cor raises an eyebrow. Aeon presses his lips together and looks at Cor like he’s an enemy that Aeon has to figure out how to fight. Cor’s heart does a funny thing when Aeon -Aeon who might be his son- looks at him like that.

The staredown is broken when Noctis tugs on Aeon’s wrist, causing both Cor and Aeon to look at him.

“Tell him?” Noctis asks, looking wide-eyed and innocent.

Cor can see Aeon’s eye twitch, can feel how Aeon feels a surge of anger toward that face that is then replaced by a wave of reluctant acceptance.

Aeon looks away from Noctis and back at Cor.

Cor looks at Aeon.

“My last name is Gainsborough,” Aeon admits. Heterochromatic eyes watching Cor for a reaction.

Outwardly, Cor shows no reaction.

Inwardly, he starts screaming. He knows that name, knows that name because it was the last name of a woman he slept with years ago.

He knows that name because it was the name of a woman that was an informant for the Crownsguard. Because Aeon looks to be around the age their child would be.

Fuck.

* * *

Aeon finds that most people are hard to read. That his empathic skills, even when he is shielding himself, are a boon when deciding how to act around people. It makes things easier when has an idea of what another person is feeling.

Aeon can’t feel anything from Cor. His father doesn’t give off any indication of what he’s feeling and for the first time since presenting, he finds himself wishing that someone did broadcast their emotions.

At least then he would have an idea of what to do expect. Instead he’s left standing there, wrist still in Noctis’ tight grip, while his father's glacier eyes stare at the two of them.

Aeon sighs. “Noctis,” Aeon says, raising an eyebrow at the prince who stares up, “Let me go.”

“Will you leave if I do?”

“Considering that was our deal, yes.”

“Deal?” Cid, who has been quiet and watching till now, “What sorta deal are we talking about here?”

“The one where I get him back to the Crownsguard and he lets me go,” Aeon says, tactfully leaving out how he saved Noctis. They can already probably guess that Aeon had a hand in freeing Noctis given how Aeon has splotches of blood covering his clothing; but by not admitting to anything Aeon thinks that he’s leaving a way out.

A way out that Cor promptly blocks. “How did you two come to that agreement?” he asks. Aeon scowls, Cor raises an eyebrow, Aeon wonders if most teenagers feel the urge to punch their parents.

“I saved him,” Aeon says.

Cid makes a disbelieving noise. “How?”

“By murdering those that took him.” Aeon gives Cid a blank look. “How else was I supposed to save the little bird?”

“Not a bird,” Noctis says.

Aeon ignores him. Cor looks thoughtful. “There were ten agents that are suspected in his kidnapping,” he says, “Are you certain you got them all?”

Aeon blinks. “I only counted nine-” Aeon spies metallic flash from behind Cor coming from the top of the Hammerhead and before Aeon knows what he’s doing his body is in front of Noctis’ and there’s pain blossoming across his stomach.

He presses a hand to his stomach to find it wet. He knows it’s blood, can hear someone scream in the background but that’s less of a concern to him right now than the fact that he’s just been shot.

Someone is talking to him, telling him to hang on and Aeon scowls. He’s not a child, he knows how to deal with wounds.

Besides, it’s not like the wound itself is as painful as being cut by one the Gilgamesh’s poisoned blades was. He tells the person talking that he’s had worse.

He blacks out before he can hear their response.

* * *

Aeon wakes up and immediately knows that he’s not in a shitty motel or an even shittier caravan. The mattress below him is too soft to belong to either of them and when he opens his eyes he’s greeted by the sight of tall arched ceilings that are, for some godforsaken reason, black.

He makes a disgusted noise, and sits up in the bed he’s been graciously laid on. Scanning the room he finds that he’s apparently been taken to an infirmary, which considering the last thing he remembers is getting shot, makes sense. He doesn’t get why they couldn’t have patched him up at the Hammerhead but, whatever, what’s done is done and what Aeon should be focusing on now is getting out of here.

So that’s what he does, he takes stock of whatever else is in the room. He notices his backpack that contains, among other things, daggers, knives, a first aid and a change of clothing next to the drawer beside the bed he’s on. Aeon wastes no time in getting off the bed, and pulling out the IV he was hooked up to, and heading toward his pack. It’s essential to take stock of what he has, to make sure that everything that was in the pack is still there.

It isn’t. Someone has taken his weapons and while Aeon supposes that makes sense, this is the Citadel, he can’t ignore the feeling of discomfort and anger at the idea of someone going through his things. He doesn’t have a lot, can’t afford to have much when he spends so much time moving, but what he does have are things essential to his survival and he doesn’t like being without them.

Scanning the room for his sword, because while he has no doubt they’ve taken that too he wants to make sure he’s not overlooking anything, Aeon frowns when he realizes that it’s not there.

Well, at least his clothing is still in his pack. Taking the shirt off his, Aeon glances down and frowns at the bandages wrapped around his middle. He remembers being shot, but he doesn’t remember anything that happened after. For a moment Aeon is struck by the urge to unwrap his bandages to see the extent of the wound before he shakes his head. No, they’ll be time for that later, when he has his weapons and is somewhere safe.

Throwing on the beige t-shirt he had in his pack, Aeon then slips on a new pair of underwear and after that a set of jeans. It’s when he’s putting on his socks he realizes he hadn’t seen his boots anywhere.

He shrugs. He has a pair of sneakers in his pack, they’ll do for now.

He’s more than relieved to find that his stash of gil is still in his pack. It should be enough to rent him a motel or caravan when he gets out of the city. His sleeping bag is there too, which is even better because if he can’t find his weapons he’s going to have to invest in new ones.

Aeon ignores the way his heart aches at the thought of losing his mothers weapon. Absentmindedly, his hands go to his hair to tug on the beads braided into it. His beads are jade with a Zu etched onto them. They were his mothers and while he knows that other Galahdians might think him too young to live up to his family’s code but he knows otherwise.

Strength in all things, his mother had told him once, We will never bow, never bend or break. As long as there is a sea, as long as there is a storm we will not bow or break. That is what these beads mean, they mean you have the strength to carry on the family legacy. To know your limits and push past them. We are warriors and we do not break.

He freezes as his hand comes up and grasps only loose hair.

Someone had unbraided his hair.

Someone had taken his beads.

**_Someone had taken his beads._ **

Aeon doesn’t bother to fight down the surge of rage that overwhelms him. Doesn’t bother to acknowledge the fear behind it that tells him his beads might be gone forever. Instead, he schools his face into a blank mask, puts on the backpack containing most of his things and marches out the door.

There’s a man in black stationed outside the door. Kingsglaive or Crownsguard Aeon doesn’t care but the man darts in front of him when Aeon exits the room.

“Kid,” the man says, he Galahdian, Aeon is pleased to note, there are beads in his hair, which mean he’ll know why Aeon wants his beads back, “Weren’t you hooked up to an IV?”

“I took it out,” Aeon informs the man, who looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm at Aeon’s words. “Someone took my beads,” Aeon continues on, regardless of the expression the man is wearing, “I would like them back.”

The man blinks. “Is there any way I can convince you to get back into that bed?”

“No,” Aeon informs him, “I want my beads back.”

“I think they had to unbraid your hair and take your beads when you underwent surgery,” the man sighs, “I’ll talk to one of the nurses. Will you stay put if I do?”

“No. If you’re talking to a nurse I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

“They might know where my weapons are,” Aeon says it simply because it’s normal for him to carry weapons. He doesn’t know why the man gives him a look like he wants to wrap Aeon in a blanket and feed him.

It doesn’t make sense.

Aeon concludes that it's a Beta thing. The other Guides he’s met don’t look at him like that so it must be a Beta thing.

He blinks as the man drags his hand across his face and sighs.

“Alright,” the man says at last, “You can come.”

“I was going to come anyway,” Aeon feels the need to point out.

“Yeah, I think I got that.”

* * *

They find a nurse. A nurse -Alpha Sentinel, Aeon’s mind supplies- who takes one look at Aeon and rounds on the man who was stationed outside the door to his room.

“He should be in bed still,” the nurse hisses, gesturing wildly, “Why is he awake? And moving? Do you have any idea of the amount of pain he could be in?”

Aeon wants to point out that he’s only felt the vague discomfort since he got out of the bed but keeps that to himself as there are more pressing issues at hand.

“Do you know where my beads are?” Aeon asks the nurse bluntly and blinks when she takes a step back in shock. Whether at his words or the fact that he doesn’t seem to be intimidated or concerned about his health he doesn’t know but she looks shocked all the same.

“Is that what you’re concerned about?” she demands, placing her hands on her hips, “Some meaningless beads? You could have reopened your wound by running about-”

“But he didn’t,” the man next to Aeon speaks, his voice frigid as winter winds, “If he had I wouldn’t have let him come as far as he has. As for the beads-” here the man's voice goes low and threatening, “-Do you know where they are or not?”

The nurse's eyes narrow further. Aeon resists the urge to punch her and meets her eyes instead. His face is blank, devoid of emotion and while she does a good job of not broadcasting her unease Aeon can still feel it as clear as day.

He tilts his head to the side.

“My beads?” he asks again.

The nurses stares at him, sweat slides down her temple and Aeon doesn’t take his eyes off her.

“We had to take them out for surgery,” the nurse says at last, “They should be at the front desk. We must have forgotten to add them with to the rest of your belongs. I’ll get them for you if you go back to your room and stay there.”

“I’m coming with you,” Aeon disagrees, “I’m not going back to the room.” Aeon doesn’t say that he’ll fight if he’s made to go back but both the nurse and man seem to realize this as the man places a hand on his shoulder.

“Take him to his beads,” the man says, “I’ll go get Cor.” Aeon wonders why Cor, why his father, is going to get involved and the shrugs the man’s hand off his shoulder.

The nurse sighs, having acknowledged this is a losing fight. “Alright,” she says, “Come with me.”

* * *

Aeon gets his beads back, rather than waste time braiding them back into his hair he shoves the small plastic bag they’re in into his pocket.

“Thank you,” Aeon says and is completely unsure why he says it. But the nurse has been projecting unease since she was left alone with him and those two words seem to calm her down a bit.

“Right,” she says resolutely, “You’re welcome.” Her brow furrows when Aeon moves to leave. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

The nurse gawks. “You can’t just leave!”

Aeon turns to face her again and blinks. “Yes,” he says slowly, “I can. I am fully capable of walking out that door on my own.”

“You’re injured,” the nurse stresses and Aeon frowns.

“Why should that stop me from leaving?” he asks. The nurse fumbles for words and Aeon uses that time to decide that using the door they came in through is too risky because the man that went in search of Cor is liable to come through it.

The window, he decides, is his best option. Going out the window means he won’t get lost in the corridors of the Citadel and means that he’ll be outside faster.

Aeon goes for the window. It slides open easily and looking out Aeon can see that he’s actually on the first floor and that the drop from the window to the ground wouldn’t be a problem for him normally but the nurse is right, he is injured and even a small drop like this could reopen his injury.

Aeon frowns; before he can decide what to do, Aeon senses a presence behind him and whirls around to find that Cor has somehow managed to sneak up behind him.

Aeon raises an eyebrow.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi,” Cor says in return, “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

This time it’s Cor that raises an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“I have things to do. Do you know where my weapons are?”

“I have them,” Cor says, “We had to take them until we were certain you wouldn’t be a threat.”

“You still brought me here and helped me. I could have become a threat at any time,” Aeon points out even as Cor reaches over -why is his father so tall?- and closes the window Aeon was considering jumping out of.

“But you didn’t,” he points out, “Besides, there was a guard.”

“That left to find you.”

“I’ll speak to Ulric about using his comm instead of coming to find in person next time.”

Aeon squints, studying Cor. His father’s face is impassive and even when Aeon tries to reach out to get an idea of what Cor is feeling he gets nothing.

Aeon doesn’t like that.

He doesn’t like it at all. It makes him nervous. Uncomfortable almost. Reading people’s emotions has allowed Aeon to anticipate how they’ll act and how he can use the situation to his advantage but Cor is broadcasting nothing.

Aeon frowns up at his father and crosses his arms.

“Why are you here?” Aeon asks.

“You’re-”

  
“Your son, yes,” Aeon says, “I know. That doesn’t explain why you are here.”

For a moment, a split second Cor seems at a loss. “Is it wrong for me to want to know you?”

“It makes no sense,” Aeon declares, not caring of the witnesses present. There’s the nurse and the guard but Aeon pays them no mind, “I’m not something that will improve your life nor a am I anything you can use to your advantage. Getting to know who I am will offer you nothing.”

“I don’t need to have a use for you to want to get to know you,” Cor says, and his voice is so gentle that Aeon almost believes him. Gilgamesh’s lessons run deep, however, and what Cor is saying makes no sense.

“If you have no use for me,” Aeon says, “Then you won’t mind me leaving.”

“Without your weapons?”

“I can get new ones.”

“You would be leaving your mothers blade behind,” Cor points out and Aeon almost freezes.

“How do you know it’s hers?” he asks.

“Because I was there when your grandmother gave it to her,” Cor says.

Aeon is intrigued. He’s never met his grandmother, but he’s heard stories. Stories about how she would roam the islands of Galahd and hunt anything with a bounty on its head. It’s said her magic was blessed by Leviathan and if that blade is the same as the one Aeon carries.

Well, it wouldn’t do to leave it behind.

Aeon blinks and tilts his head as he studies Cor. “I’d like the blade back.”

“Stay,” Cor says, “Three months. Stay for three months and I’ll give you the blade back and let you leave.”

Aeon huffs. “Why do you want me to stay?”

“You’re family. You’re my son.”

“So?”

“Family takes care of each other.” Cor says.

Aeon thinks of his mother, of her bright red hair and the way her smile would light up a room. He remembers how it felt to have her hands braid his hair and how she would let him curl up next to her whenever he had a nightmare about bombs dropping.

Families do take care of each other. But the only thing tying Cor and Aeon together is blood and doesn’t make a family. Cor might want to be one, to try at least, but Aeon sees no reason why they should. Aeon has been doing just fine after all. He’s been on his own long enough to know how the world works. He’s been fine.

Cor seems to disagree. Aeon doesn’t care, but he is injured, and staying would likely mean medical care.

“Will I receive adequate treatment for my wound?” Aeon asks and the nurse behind Cor makes an offended noise.

“Yes,” Cor confirms.

“When I am well enough will you train me?” Aeon asks because although he’s learned from one blademaster it can’t hurt to learn from another.

Cor raises his eyebrow. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Aeon confirms, and narrows his eyes, “When I want to leave you’ll let me go? No trying to convince me to stay?”

“You’ll be free to leave after the three months,” Cor agrees, “I won’t stop you.”

“And I’ll have my mothers blade back.”

“Yes.”

Aeon considers it.

“Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll stay.”

 


	3. the sun is also a warrior

Cor knows that the world isn’t kind.

He knows this. He’s seen abuse and war first hand. He himself had been groomed as a child soldier. He knows the world isn’t kind.

But what he’s looking at has him clenching his fists and grinding his teeth in anger. The medical staff of the Citadel had taken x-rays of Aeon’s abdomen in order to locate the bullet and take it out.

Cor had been called in after Aeon had been stabilized and shown the x-rays; both as a representative of the Crown and as the boys supposed father. As a representative of the Crown he’s there to see the extent of the damage done to the boy in his attempt to protect Noctis.

Cor can see where the bullet had been lodged, he can see where the damage done is but that registers second in his mind as he stares at the x-rays.

He spends longer than he should staring at the x-rays the doctor had given him. Cor is a soldier, Cor is the Marshal of the Crownsguard, he knows what bones that have been broken look like once they are healed. He knows that given the amount of skill Aeon has with a blade that his son has likely broken more than a few bones in his life.

But this-

These x-rays details years of damage. They show Cor just where Aeon has been hit hard enough to break a bone, they show Cor where the bone has been broken more than once in the same place. They show Cor years of pain and fighting and Cor wants to hit something.

More than that; Cor wants names.

The doctor showing the x-rays clears his throat.

“As you can see,” Doctor Aqua Ferox says, “The patient - Aeon, I believe his name is? - has been through what looks to be years of either fighting or abuse.” Doctor Ferox pauses a moment before continuing. “He’ll need to be on an IV for the next few days as he was malnourished when he came to us.”

Cor clamps down tight on his emotions. On everything in him that screams for him to go and find who is responsible for leaving a child alone. He buries the bursting guilt that threatens to overwhelm him under the rage he feels at those who dared to hurt a child.

For the first time in a long time, Cor feels the urge to go out and kill someone.

* * *

Cor has seen many things. Cor has seen starving children and dead parents. He’s seen people die of poison and blades. Cor has seen shoulders blown off by a blast from a mech and he’s seen how the cruelty of war turns everyone it touches into a fighter. It’s because of his experience in the battlefield, with soldiers and those affected by war that Cor knows what the eyes of someone who has been raised to be a warrior look like.

He’s seen child soldiers before, he had been one himself; had been half feral and snarling when the then Marshal of the Crownsguard looked at him and thought ‘We can use this.’

Cor has seen child soldiers before, but nothing prepares him to see the same defensive and half feral gaze in the eyes of his son.

There are few things that can faze him.

But that, that along with the memories of the x-rays fresh in his mind lead him to drink.

* * *

Regis and Clarus find Cor lounging on the couch placed in Regis’ office for the sole purpose of allowing Cor to lounge on it.

That’s not what worries them. What worries them is the fact that Cor is staring at the ceiling of the room like he wants it to brutally murder it. There’s a tenseness to Cor’s usually lax frame, something that screams that there is something wrong with the Marshal.

Clarus is the first to notice the bottle of whiskey in Cor’s hand.

“How much did you drink?” Clarus asks, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“How is Noctis?” Cor asks, dodging the question even as he takes another drag from the bottle.

“Noctis is fine,” Regis says, mouth quirking into a smile at the mention of his son, “He’s a bit rattled, but he seems rather intent on seeing his savior again.” What of Aeon? Goes unsaid but it’s a question they know that Cor hears.

Cor makes a strangled noise and for a moment he lets the iron-clad control he holds over his empathy falter and Regis and Clarus can feel the guilt and rage and worry that clouds over Cor’s mind.

Then it’s gone, and Cor speaks.

“Have you seen the x-rays?” Cor asks, waving the bottle in the direction of Regis’ desk.

“Not yet,” Regis says, making his way over to his desk with Clarus in step with him. There’s a moment where silence hangs over the room like a death mask before Regis speaks again.

“Cor-”

“I want to kill them,” Cor says truthfully, eyes hard and sharp, “I want to find who did that to him and I want their head.”

Clarus and Regis remember a Cor that killed for others on a word, remember a half-feral child that had been raised as a weapon. They remember Cor asking them why killing was wrong and they remember how hard it was to try and heal the years of damage heaped upon Cor by Mors, Lupus Amicitia, and the old Marshal.

For once, neither Clarus nor Regis try and tame their friends' murderous instincts.

* * *

Aeon wakes up at dawn, as he usually does.

That is the only thing about his routine that is usual.

Aeon wakes in the Citadel. He pushes himself into a sitting position and throws the covers off of him the same time he swings his feet over the edge of the bed. Standing beside the bed he just vacated he scans the room to see if anything has been changed from the night before. Aeon’s pack is where he left it the night before, on the nightstand next to his bed. His shoes are next to his feet and everything would be the same as he had left if it weren’t for the yellow flowers on the nightstand next to his pack.

He blinks, staring at the flowers as he furrows his brow. He can’t imagine why someone would bring him flowers, why someone would waste time getting him flowers. He hasn’t done anything to deserve them, and while he knows that people give flowers to those sick and injured he cannot comprehend why anyone would give him of all people flowers.

Aeon frowns at the flowers as if they’ve offended him. It feels wrong having someone give him flowers, he’s done nothing to warrant the gifting of them and it upsets him more than it should that he doesn’t understand why someone would give him flowers.

He doesn’t mean anything to anyone here, no one knows him and yet-

There are flowers and he doesn’t know what to do with them.

He doesn’t know why to make of it. His frown deepens as he debates whether or not to throw them out a window. Aeon reaches a hand out intending to do just that when he stops as his hands accidentally brush against the petals of one of the flowers. Suddenly it seems wrong to throw them out, to destroy something someone has given him even if that thing is temporary. It seems wrong to let something as innocent as flowers go to waste.

Aeon withdraws his hand with a huff and sets about getting dressed.

* * *

Aeon has just finished pulling his shirt on when someone knocks on the door. For a moment Aeon freezes, unsure of what to do. He has no weapons, nothing but his hands and feet to defend himself with and for a moment panic flares up in him before he squashes it down.

He’s safe here, Cor said that he would be safe here. Aeon has to trust that.

Trust isn’t a thing that comes easy for Aeon.

“Come in,” Aeon calls at last. The door opens to reveal his father there’s bags under Cor’s eyes, and Aeon tentatively reaches out and tries to find any clue as to what Cor is feeling. He finds nothing and Aeon can’t help but envy the control Cor has over his aura.

_A weapon isn’t hindered by something as trivial as emotions,_ Gilgamesh’s voice echoes in Aeon’s head and he can’t help but admire Cor for giving off no signs of what he was feeling.

“Why are you here?” Aeon asks, tilting his head to the side and studying his father. Cor looks tired, true, but Aeon wonders if that would affect his effectiveness in battle or not. His hands twitch for his sword; he wants to fight Cor, wants to pit himself against the man that almost bested Gilgamesh.

Against the man that Gilgamesh seemed almost obsessed with.

Cor raises an eyebrow and frowns.

Aeon stares back, unfazed by Cor’s reaction.

“I am here to ask if you would consent to a DNA test,” Cor says.

Aeon blinks, straightening up and furrowing his brow. “Why didn’t you do it before? I’m sure the medical team here has enough of my blood to compare it to yours.”

Something unreadable passes over Cor’s face and Aeon almost frowns at the sight of it.

“We wouldn’t do that without your permission.”

“Why not?” Aeon asks, genuinely curious, “It would have saved time.”

Cor looks like he’s about to say something before he bites it back.

“Do we have your permission or not?”

Aeon shrugs. “I know I’m your son,” he says simply, “I have nothing to prove.”

Cor looks unsurprised. “I thought you might say that.”

“Don’t assume things.”

“I try not to.” Comes Cor’s dry response. “Do you like the flowers?”

The single question makes Aeon’s mouth drop open before he closes it quickly. The flowers, he hadn’t expected to be asked about the flowers. He still doesn’t understand why he was given flowers, why someone would go through the trouble of buying something for him.

Aeon doesn’t know what to make of the flowers. He doesn’t know what to make of the confusion that riddles his mind as he tries to understand why someone would get him flowers.

He debates for a moment about sharing his thoughts with Cor before he shuts that thought down.

_Show no weakness._

“They’re...nice,” Aeon says at last.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Noctis went and got his Shield to help him gather the flowers for you.” A smirk teases Cor’s face. “He spent quite some time debating on the color.”

Aeon shifts on his feet. His gaze remaining steady on his father.

“That’s nice.”

Cor shows no emotions, but Aeon can’t help but feel as though his response has pained Cor somehow. He just doesn’t know why.

Sighing, Cor shakes his head.

“I came here to warn you,” he says, “The King and his Shield will be here soon. They wish to thank you for saving Noctis.”

Aeon’s hands twitch again. He doesn’t want to meet the King or his Shield. He wants his weapons back. More importantly, he wants to stay as far away from everyone else as possible.

It wouldn’t do to get attached.

Attachment is just another type of cage after all, and Aeon is tired of cages.


End file.
